Pure Howling Entitlement

, , , , | Right | August 5, 2021

I volunteer with a non-profit wolf hybrid rescue. We have wolfdogs of varying degrees, from low-content wolf to high-content wolf. About half the facility houses the adoptable animals in separate pens.

We have a permanent group of wolfdogs that we can never allow to be adopted. They live together as a pack. If wolfdogs were continually coming in and out of the pack, it would be traumatic for them.

These wolfdogs also act as ambassadors for the rescue, helping to raise money to keep the rescue going. On weekends, for a fee, people can visit with the pack inside the pens and interact with the wolfdogs — under close supervision, of course.

Some of the pack will travel to events like county fairs. We set up a chain-link caged-in area with three wolfdogs. People can pay a fee to enter the pen, pet the animals for a few minutes, and have their pictures taken with them. There are always two volunteers in the pen for safety reasons. While the wolfdogs are mostly domesticated and well-behaved, they are still, after all, part wolf! We have to be careful that their tails will not get stepped on, etc., and generally make sure that the humans are behaving appropriately. We also have a few volunteers outside the enclosure selling merchandise, answering questions, and making sure safety protocols are followed.

Me: “Ma’am, please don’t allow your child to put his fingers through the fencing into the enclosure. Fingers look suspiciously like hot dogs to a wolfdog.”

Lady: “Oh, okay, then.”

Not two minutes later:

Me: “Ma’am! Do not put your fingers inside the enclosure, either! They look suspiciously like even bigger hot dogs to a wolfdog!”

Later, I’m tasked with a wolfdog for a walk — on leash, of course. We give each animal a break to stretch its legs. It is customary for people to stare and ask questions. The top two questions are, “Can I pet him?” and, “Can I give him something to eat?” The answers to those questions are, respectively, “Of course!” and “Absolutely not!”

Man: “Wow, is that one of those wolfdogs?”

Me: “Yes, it is. This is [Wolfdog].”

Man: “He’s huge. Can I pet him? Can my daughter pet him?”

I notice his three- or four-year-old daughter eating ice cream.

Me: “Of course, you both can. He loves a good scratch between the ears. But your daughter is eating an ice cream cone. She can’t have that in her hands when she approaches [Wolfdog]. He will try to eat it and that’s a food that he cannot have.”

The man goes to his daughter and takes the ice cream cone from her hands. The little girl approaches. I kneel down next to [Wolfdog] so I can greet the girl and show her how to properly pet him. While my attention is on [Wolfdog] and the girl, the father comes up out of my vision line and suddenly thrusts the ice cream cone in front of the wolfdog, who promptly scoffs it down before I can do anything.

Me: “He is not supposed to have food like that! I told you! Why on earth would you do that?”

Man: “I wanted to show my daughter what it looks like when a wolf eats. It’s just an ice cream cone. My dog eats them all the time. It’s no big deal.”

Me: “Yes, it is a big deal. He’s a high-content wolf. He eats 100% raw meat only. That’s it. Nothing else. You have fed him something that he’s never had in his life, and we have no idea how it might affect him.”

Man: *Backing off with his daughter* “I just… wanted to show her… not a big deal.”

I stood and walked in the other direction. When I returned to the wolfdog exhibit, I let the leader of the rescue know what happened. He told me it would be okay, that one ice cream cone certainly would not do any harm. But if we let every person who approached feed the wolfdogs junk? That would be unhealthy.

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Convenient, But So, So Stupid

, , , , , | Working | August 3, 2021

I used to volunteer with my township’s all-volunteer first-aid squad. One day, we got a call to respond to a woman who had fallen on the second floor of her apartment and could not get back up. She was alone in the apartment. The complex was comprised of about sixty units. We arrived along with a police officer, which was standard practice for the township.

We located the apartment. Since we did not want to break anything to get in if possible, we started checking doors and windows, hoping something was open through which one of us could climb. There was nothing. We checked the back and considered climbing to the second-story balcony, but there was nothing to use for hand- and footholds. Since the woman was stable and still on the phone with 911, we spent a good ten minutes walking around and around the apartment building, desperately trying to find a reasonable way to get inside. It was then that a neighbor came to us.

Neighbor: “Is [Patient] okay?”

Me: “She’s called 911. We can’t find a way in without breaking a window. Do you know if a neighbor or a nearby relative has a key?”

Neighbor: “Well, actually, I happen to know that every key in the complex works on every door. They’re all the same.”

Cop: What?!

Neighbor: “Yes. Let me go get my key. You’ll be able to get into her apartment.”

I just shook my head in disbelief.

The neighbor got her key and, sure enough, we were able to access the patient without breaking anything. My partner, the cop, and I agreed to never mention this to anyone. It blew my mind that such a thing was allowed to happen. When someone moved out and a new tenant moved in, obviously, the lock was not changed. The new tenant would have simply been given the same. Old. Key.

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He Partook WAY Too Much

, , , , , | Right | July 31, 2021

I am working in the “suits and men’s accessories” department. On an initially unremarkable Monday morning, I am approached at around 11:00 am by a man who smells strongly of alcohol and is looking for pyjama pants.

Customer: “I’m on vacation here from Nevada. Do you know the area?”

Me: “I’m pretty familiar. What are you looking for?”

Customer: “Know where I can score some weed?”

I freeze, partly because I’m still in Customer Service mode and legitimately don’t know, and partly because the question is so unexpected.

Customer: *Laughs* “I guess you don’t indulge? That’s okay.”

He then sweeps me up into a hug and, caught off guard, I stay frozen until he lets me go. Laughing, he walks off. I mention it to my manager, jokingly self-reporting myself for letting a customer leave with an unanswered question, and then get back to my regular duties.

About twenty minutes later, the young lady working in the next department over comes to me in a panic and asks for my help.

Coworker: “There’s a naked guy in my fitting room hallway. He tried to hug me.”

Me: *With a sinking feeling* “Was he about this tall, southern accent?”

Sure enough, it is the same guy. I tell her to call security and head over to see what I can accomplish. He’s standing there with a pile of clothes in his hands (and nowhere else) and he smiles when he sees me.

Customer: “Hey, I’d like to buy these. Can you ring me up?”

I take his shoulder and guide him to a fitting booth:

Me: “I’ll be happy to, just as soon as you’re dressed.”

I closed the door in his face and exited to find my coworker, who informed me that security was busy with a shoplifter and couldn’t be bothered with our situation. My department was empty, so I lingered a few minutes to make sure this ended well, only for the hugger to exit the dressing room and make a beeline for the exit between our departments. We just let him go; there was a pile of clothes in the booth he’d used, but we couldn’t be sure if it was all of what he’d had or not. We never found out if he was related to the other shoplifting situation or if he was a bizarre coincidence.

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The Sauce Of All Your Problems, Part 7

, , , | Right | June 29, 2021

I’m waiting to pick up my online order at a popular burrito place. There is a sign stating they brought a steak sauce back as an option.

Customer: “I’ll have a [steak sauce].”

Cashier: “What would you like?”

Customer: “[Steak sauce].”

Cashier: “Ma’am, that’s a sauce. Would you like a burrito or something else?”

Customer: “THE [STEAK SAUCE]!”

She points and slams her finger into the display sign.

Cashier: “So, you want the steak burrito with [steak sauce]? Sure thing.”

Customer: “What? I want shrimp! It comes on it, right?! It can go on the shrimp in the burrito and not just the steak?”

Cashier: “Yes, it can go on both, but you’ll have to pay extra for the shrimp.”

Customer: “But it can go on both, right?!”

Cashier: “Yes.”

I left before she got her food, but I think the cashier may have gotten her to understand her order and that [steak sauce] was indeed just a sauce and could go on anything.

Getting To The Sauce Of The Problem, Part 6
Getting To The Sauce Of The Problem, Part 5
Getting To The Sauce Of The Problem, Part 4
Getting To The Sauce Of The Problem, Part 3
Getting To The Sauce Of The Problem, Part 2

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They Can Transition Themselves Out Of The Drive-Thru

, , , , , | Right | June 24, 2021

I have a fairly unusual, high-pitched voice. It is especially noticeable when I use my “customer service voice.” I often have people mock me by speaking in a much higher pitch than normal or laugh out loud as soon as they hear it, and it doesn’t bother me as much anymore. However, it isn’t usually THIS bad.

Me: “Good afternoon, how may I help you?”

Customer: “Yeah, I’d like a root beer and a Coke.”

Me: “Sure! Would you like anything else?”

The customer suddenly speaks in a much higher pitch than before.

Customer: “Umm, we’re actually transgender.”

He and his passenger crack up laughing.

Me: “Uhhh… Okay. That’ll be $2.13.”

It takes me a minute to process what they just said. I have a response ready by the time they get to my window, which takes a few minutes. Two teenagers pull up.

Me: “Hi, you guys ordered the root beer and Coke?”

Customer: “Yep, that’s us.”

Me: “Okay, well, I hate to judge, but you’re not actually trans, are you? You heard me speak and thought it would be funny to mock me. It’s not funny to make fun of trans people, and I don’t appreciate being laughed at.”

Customer: “Wow, are you really saying you think I don’t like gay people? I love gay people! My mom is gay! My little sister is bi! I love gay people!”

I start to respond, but he interrupts me.

Customer: “Are you really going to refuse to serve us because I made a joke? Are you that immature and so easily offended that you’ll refuse to serve me for a joke? You shouldn’t have a job at this kind of place if you’re so thin-skinned.”

Me: *Forceful but friendly* “Yes, I am refusing to serve you. Please feel free to leave.”

Customer: “Wow, are you serious? You’re really going to be so immature?”

Me: *With a smile on my face* “Yep!” *Even more forcefully* “Please feel free to leave.”

Customer: “Then go f*** yourself!” *Speeds away*

I told my manager about this incident and she thought I should have been harsher with them. I was prepared to be but was happy that I got them to leave, even if they didn’t give me enough time to explain the difference between gay and trans people, or why it’s not at all okay to make that kind of “joke.” This job sucks, but at least one of my managers has my back.

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